There must be a place
where the rain stops...

I tiptoe, hopping like
a blinded astronaut on...

I’m in my car.
Outside the heat is...

Crowd from the city
Come together by the sea...

Sometimes I sit down to write
But my hands are firm...

Of smoke and sand
saltiness between cement...

Weary and beaten
Yet vastly firm...

Her dark crystal hair
Stands out on the limpid sea...

Snowflakes landing
Over the mud littered path...

Ripe apples falling
Upon auburn crunchy leaves...

An old rocking chair
Creaking on the sunlit porch...

Bored of earth limits
The boat took off from water...